


Aubade

by violetstorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World of Ruin (Final Fantasy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetstorm/pseuds/violetstorm
Summary: Gladio has been taking countless hunts. Ignis thinks he needs a break.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19
Collections: FFXV Book Club 2020 Holiday Exchange





	Aubade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saisei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/gifts).



> This was written for the FFXV Book Club server holiday exchange. I hope that the amount of hurt and comfort I added was respectable enough. ♡

It’s a routine Ignis has learned to hate.

Gladio returns from hunts and takes a shower; the pipes rattle in the walls of their tiny, one-room apartment in Lestallum and Ignis lays out a change of clean clothes on the bed; when Gladio is done, Ignis kisses him on the cheek and asks how he’s doing.

His answer is always the same.

 _I’m fine,_ he says. _Hardly hurts._ _I’m okay, the daemons weren’t anything special. Don’t worry ‘bout it, Iggy._

And Ignis knows he’s not exactly a star role model himself when it comes to self-care. The memories from his youth of Gladio luring him to bed and forcing him to rest after hours of work are still as strong as ever. 

But Gladio moves slower at home, with a burden on his shoulders that no massage can aid. He doesn’t talk as much, laughs less. In bed, he still sleeps with his arms wrapped around Ignis but when Ignis wakes, Gladio’s always gone. No sleep-laden smiles and morning kisses—just a note or a text telling Ignis he’s taken another mission. If he’s lucky, Gladio will tell him what type.

Ignis is just as busy—in the two years that Noct’s left, he’s learned to navigate the world. His aim isn’t quite as sharp, but he’s getting there. The Marshal works with him to organize squads of hunters and in return, he gives Ignis information they’ve found. Anything that may point him towards a way of saving Noct.

(He’s yet to find anything. Prompto and Gladio have endless faith in him and it helps as much as it hurts).

Or perhaps Ignis is using his workload as an excuse to delay the inevitable conversation with Gladio. The thought is not a surprise and Ignis then vows to himself to talk with Gladio once he gets back from yet another hunt he’s taken.

Of course, his prepared speech flies out the window once Gladio slams the door shut, stumbles into the room, smelling of grime and blood. Ignis, from his spot at the kitchen table, is immediately by Gladio’s side, tentatively reaching out.

“Gladio,” he begins, “you’re home. Where are you hurt?”

“S’nothing.” Gladio shrugs him off, tries to make his way to the shower. Ignis nimbly side-steps to block his way. “Iggy. C’mon. I stink.”

Ignis fixes Gladio with a stare. “That you do, and you’re also not walking normally. The faster you tell me where you’re hurt, the faster and easier we can take care of it.”

“I told you, I’m _fine._ It’s just a scratch, okay? You don’t need to worry.”

“Knowing you, a scratch could mean anything from an actual scratch to having half your leg chopped off.”

“Look, Iggy,” Gladio sighs and he sounds much older than he actually is. “I’m tired. Today’s hunt wasn’t that easy. I don’t wanna argue with you.”

“I’m doing this for your own good. _Somebody_ has to look after your health.”

And perhaps Ignis sounded more peckish than intended, because Gladio stops breathing, just for a moment, then says, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ignis is, thankfully, good at ditching a script and improvising. He is, unfortunately, not so good at keeping his annoyance under control when it comes to a person’s well-being. “Really, Gladio? Neither of us are fools, we both know what you’re doing. When was the last time you took a day off? Even the Marshal has started to worry, what with the amount of hunts you’ve been taking on. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Somebody has to do it,” Gladio says. His voice is heavier, dangerous, as if he’s on a battlefield. Ignis can almost hear him tense. “You think the daemons are just gonna give us back the outposts we’ve lost? That I’m gonna get stronger by sittin’ around doing nothing?

“The world will continue to turn if you take a day off. What do you hope to accomplish by this? I know you’re exhausted from constantly fighting—-I’ve been waiting to receive a call telling me you got hurt by some mistake that could have been avoided had you bothered to get more than three hours of sleep.”

“I ain’t exactly got any other choice. It’s my _job_ to protect people and I need to be strong enough to do it!”

“Pardon my language,” Ignis says with none of the diplomacy he’s perfected over the years, “but that is, quite frankly, stupid. This is the same thing that happened with Gilgamesh. You always run off on your own as if all your problems can be solved if you punch something hard enough—strength is more than just physical, Gladio.”

“I know that!” The kitchen table shakes; Gladio must have hit it, somehow. The walls in their apartment are thin, hideously thin, and Ignis wonders if anybody’s heard, wonders if Gladio cares. “Damn it, Iggy,” he says more quietly, but still as gruff. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then act like it! Punishing yourself by taking on hunt after _hunt_ is _not_ how you do it! You’ve been reckless, too—don’t think I haven’t been speaking with the hunters you’ve been travelling with.” Ignis exhales. Takes a moment to collect himself. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, Gladio, but I’m at my wit’s end. I’m saying this because I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt. What will we do if we lose you? Where will Noct be without his Shield?”

Noct’s name is heavy, and stifling. Some days, it’s easier to say Noct’s name. Some days, his name feels thick on Ignis’ tongue and the memories too harsh to remember.

Gladio doesn’t answer at first, instead manuerving around the table and Ignis to pace the apartment. Back and forth, back and forth. Five steps each time. He stops, Ignis waits.

“I want to be worthy enough for him,” Gladio finally says. “I’ve failed him so many times now. Couldn’t stop Ravus. Couldn’t help him or Luna in Altissia. Couldn’t stop Ardyn.” He walks over to their couch and collapses heavily—the couch squeaks in protest, but it holds steady. “I just keep wonderin’ if things could have been different if I were a little stronger. More capable. I want—I want there to be a world for Noct to return to. Not some wasteland run by daemons.”

From the kitchen table, it’s another seven steps to the couch. It’s hardly big enough for Gladio as-is—though Ignis sits at the opposite end, their knees still knock, their thighs still press together. 

“You’ve done an admirable job so far,” Ignis says. “But you cannot kill all the daemons on your own and you don’t need to try when the rest of us are here to support you. Prompto and Cindy. The Marshal and Iris. Me.”

“I wanna be strong enough to protect you, too.”

They’ve had this conversation before. In the Citadel, on the road. Ignis knows Gladio is well-aware he’s more than capable; rather, this is an expression of his fears. “You’ve helped me in more ways than you can imagine, Gladio. All I ask is that you let me do the same. _Talk_ to me. _Tell_ me when you’re feeling inadequate so I can reassure you that there is nobody else more suited to be by Noct’s side when he comes back.”

Gladio shifts; he sighs. Runs his hands down his face. “Iggy, what have I done to deserve you?”

“A lot, I’m sure,” Ignis says with a wry smile. He places a hand on Gladio’s thigh, is immediately met with Gladio taking hold of his hand. His palms are calloused, dry. Warm, steady. “You do so much for us. For everyone. But you are still human and I don’t want to see you burn yourself out. There is still hope—did we not just recover the Cauthess outpost? It was by a hunter squad you never accompanied.”

“Yeah. I know ‘em, they’re a tough bunch. Not surprised they managed to do it.” Gladio runs his fingers over Ignis’ knuckles. “Astrals. I trust them, it’s just… it’s just like everything with Iris all over again. Wanna protect them by keeping them as far away from the trouble as possible, and take everything on my own.”

“Yes, and Iris put you in your place when you tried that with her,” Ignis says. “Noct would not be disappointed in you, either,” he adds. “He’d encourage you to seek help from others. You wouldn’t be weak for doing so.”

“I can hear it in his voice.” Gladio raises his arm—wraps it around Ignis’ shoulder. He’s speaking softly, but Ignis knows he’s smiling. “Tellin’ me off. Think I know where he got it from.”

“Indeed.” Ignis leans upwards to kiss Gladio’s cheek, then the corner of his lips. Gladio makes a low sound in the back of his throat; with his free hand, he cups Ignis’ chin to pull him closer for an actual kiss. It’s been long, too long, since they’ve kissed like this but their lips fit together and they fall into a familiar rhythm like they’ve never stopped.

They only break apart when Gladio yawns. “Sorry, Iggy,” he says. “Didn’t mean to—”

And now it’s Ignis’ turn to say, “Don’t worry about it. You’ve had a long day.” He adjusts himself, reclines so that his back is to the arm of the couch. Gladio moves with him as if this were a practiced dance, head pillowed on Ignis’ shoulder. It’s an awkward position, made doubly-so by their size, but they manage. “Was our earlier conversation enough to encourage you to get some rest?”

“Think so. Sorry. Again. But thanks for verbally kicking my ass.” Gladio yawns again. “I deserved it. And I didn't mean to worry you earlier—I really did just have a scratch. All the blood, well, it's dried now, but it belongs to somebody else. Rookie hunter took a bad hit and I was the one carryin' them, but they'll recover."

"Oh, Gladio." Ignis cards his fingers through Gladio’s hair, gently working out tangles. He nearly purrs like an oversized coeurl. “I'm thankful you're okay." And he wants to add more, remind Gladio not to underexaggerate in the future but maybe, just for now, this is enough. "I’ll text the Marshal and let him know you need a break, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah. S’fine. You’re the best, Iggy."

Ignis hums in response. Gladio’s breaths gradually grow slower, the creases in his forehead even out. His heartbeat thumps steadily, Ignis holds him and, then: Gladio sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter at [@Aratanaruu.](https://twitter.com/Aratanaruu)


End file.
